The longest commute, day three: Joel has made it to Christchurch

This morning, I’m catching a 7:30am bus from Dunedin to Christchurch. There was construction noise outside my accommodation all night so I had a shit sleep and I’m in a grumpy mood.

Here’s the big dumb bus that I have to ride to Christchurch today. I am so tired and this Up & Go isn’t sitting well in my tummy. What kind of big dumb idiot ever thought this trip was a good idea? (Reader, it was me. I’m the big dumb idiot who thought this was a good idea.)

When I left home on Sunday, I joked that I knew I had forgotten something, I just didn’t know what.

The answer, it turns out, is socks. I forgot to pack socks. I’ve been wearing the same pair for four days – including during that football game in Invercargill.

They’re starting to get crusty.  The smell is a crime against humanity

I have a pack of savoury pinwheel scones sitting in my bag, fresh from the Countdown bakery. They’re calling my name. The bread must be so soft, the bacon bits so fatty and salty.

But alas, I am forbidden to eat them. The bus driver, Jono (“Call me John or Jono, just don’t call me late for dinner”) just informed us that no food may be consumed on the bus under any circumstances. I must wait to eat until we reach Oamaru. I’m so hungry 😢.

The bus just passed through Palmerston, the original and superior of the two Palmerstons in Aotearoa. Full disrespect intended to anyone from Palmerston North (get your own name you derivative hacks).

I don’t know anything else about Palmerston except that my friend Michael Lister is from there. He just got engaged. Congratulations to Mick and Ansa!

This bus is SO BUMPY and the road is SO WINDY and I keep being thrown from side to side and I’M NOT ALLOWED TO EAT.

Meanwhile, there is a perfectly good train track right outside my window, mocking me: “Ooh, I bet you wish you were riding along a nice smooth rail in a comfortable train carriage don’t you? Well jokes on you because there are no trains. You dumb cretin, you fool. Fuck you.”

As the great Hera Lindsay Bird once wrote: “godDAMN, this stupid milk-loving piece of shit dumbass mean spirited sale at Briscoes racist sexist 40% off deck furniture piss country.”

This is Lyn and Malcolm, two Spinoff readers and fellow public transport enthusiasts who have been following my journey and were waiting to meet me at the bus stop. They wish there were passenger trains in the south so they could pop over to Dunedin or Christchurch for a day trip – the bus has much less appeal.

They offered to buy me a coffee but the bus driver was very strict and said he was only stopping for three minutes “and if you’re not back in time I’ll leave you behind”.

So, we took this quick photo and I got back on the bus. It was lovely to meet you both.

I just deleted a post about crossing the Rakaia River. It turns out it was actually the Waitaki River. My sincere apologies to the river community, no offence was intended.

I had a wee snooze and woke up in Timaru. Here is yet another picture of a sadly abandoned train station platform.

During my 30-minute stop in Timaru, I strolled down the main drag and came across a trendy little sandwich shop called Curbside Toastie. The staff were playing a Summer Thieves album and bobbing their heads to the music, so you know these girls are cool. 

I ordered a toastie with hot honey and crumbed bacon and just… Wow. Wow. Wow. I sound like Owen Wilson. I’m supposed to be good at describing things with words; it’s kind of what I do professionally. But in the case of Curbside Toastie, nothing I write could possibly do it justice. I was walking down the street as I took my first bite, and I unintentionally moaned out loud. Then, I did it three more times. This toastie is the best thing Timaru has ever produced – and yes, I’m including Phar Lap and Richard Pearse.

My only regret is that I couldn’t fully savour every bite because I had to finish it in a hurry so I could get back on the bus. Driver Jono reminded us of his strict No Eating rule for a third time as we set off again. To quote: “No eating whatsoever on the bus whatsoever due to the fact that someone made a mess on the bus and slipped over on the bus.”

I have about an hour and a half to go on this bus. Probably slightly more because we’ve been delayed a couple of times by road works.

At least once I’m through this, my next two days are on trains. It sounds like heaven.

Oh well, at least someone is using the rails.

The bus stopped briefly in Ashburton to let someone off, but not long enough for us to go outside. Ashburton is home to some of New Zealand’s most important women: Jenny Shipley, our first female prime minister; Robyn Malcolm, our greatest actor; and my grandma.

Ashburton is home to a wonderful vintage railway and historical museum—but, once again, no actual passenger trains run through here anymore. Sad.

Earlier today, I posted some HORRIBLE MISINFORMATION when I mixed up the Rakaia river and the Waitaki river. I fully expect to be taken to the media council, or possibly dragged through the streets by wild horses.

I triple-checked this time and I can confirm that the bus just crossed the actual Rakaia river. (By “just” I mean 26 minutes ago, but the terrible cell reception makes everything very slow).

The Rakaia Bridge is the longest road bridge in New Zealand, and the longest in the southern hemisphere. At 1,756 m, it is 736m longer than the Auckland Harbour Bridge – that’s about the length of 736 one-metre rulers!

Tradition dictates that passengers must hold their breath over the bridge. I learned that I am not very good at this. The bus took 1 minute and 22 second to cross. I failed at 55 seconds.

Alex Casey gifted me with the South Island’s highest honour: A fresh pair of Speight’s-branded socks.

What is this, a crossover episode?

Not only did I get to enjoy a delicious Dimitri’s souvlaki, but I met the legend himself. This is my new friend Dimitri.

An empty can of Woodstock and a cigarette butt. Art.

I’m going to go grab myself an ice cream on New Regent Street and chill out. Thanks again for following along.

Tomorrow, I have a 7am train to Picton followed by a 2:15pm ferry crossing to Wellington.